I ought to have enjoyed every moment there; but--it is never
pleasant to be with a man when you think he is wishing that you were
another girl.
"Was she pretty?" I couldn't resist asking.
For an instant he looked bewildered; then he understood. "Very," he
replied, smiling. "About the prettiest girl I ever saw. The description
of Nicolete would fit her very well. 'The clear face, delicately fine,'
and all that. But I don't let my mind dwell much on girls in these days,
when I can help it, as you can well imagine."
"And when you can't help it?" I wanted to know.
"Oh, when I can't help it, I feel like a bear with a sore head, and no
honey in my hollow tree."
So that is why he is so disagreeable, sometimes! He is thinking of the
girl of the battlemented garden at Beaucaire. I shall try and find out
all about her; but I don't know that I shall feel better satisfied when
I have.
CHAPTER XVIII
The garden on the battlements at Beaucaire seemed to bring out all
that's best in Lady Turnour, and she was--for her--quite radiant when we
arrived at Arles.
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